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  • Don Lando 6:10 pm on April 23, 2008 Permalink
    Tags: , , , whimsy   

    Congonese condemn penis pilferage 

    While Americans bicker and complain about high gas prices, men from Congo are waking to find their nethers threatened by warlocks and thieves.

    Don Lando was incredulous at first, but who can argue with Reuters?

    From that article comes this jaw-dropping lede:

    Police in Congo have arrested 13 suspected sorcerers accused of using black magic to steal or shrink men’s penises after a wave of panic and attempted lynchings triggered by the alleged witchcraft.

    Apparently, all you have to do to get lynched in Congo is be accused of trying to miniturize or steal a bloke’s tadger.

    “When you try to tell the victims that their penises are still there,” explained the police chief, “they tell you that it’s become tiny or that they’ve become impotent. To that I tell them, ‘How do you know if you haven’t gone home and tried it?'”.

    “It’s real,” said a 29-yr-old phone card salesman, “Just yesterday here, there was a man who was a victim. We saw. What was left was tiny.” 

    I agree violence isn’t the answer here (though I would be enraged if I awoke to find someone had put a hex on my gear). Still, what happens when the accused are taken into the Penal System but the victims’ testamony fails to Stand Up under scrutiny?


    Another recent penis story that made us say ‘lol wut?’   -> here

  • Don Lando 11:19 am on March 15, 2008 Permalink
    Tags: , last meal, whimsy   

    Last Meals 

    Every collection of writ needs whimsy. With that in mind, I consider last meals.

    I assume folks are mostly like me and have wondered about their final moments preceeding death. It’s a little dark, perhaps even morbid. But some good can come from delving into the mind’s myriad workings to see how you might behave during moments of truth.

    When it comes to last meals (or last sunsets, kisses, thoughts, words, etc) something seems to me inherently misaligned. I think it stems from the fact that we assume those moments are significant relative to moments in, say, the middle of our lives. That assumption comes, of course, from our basic presumption that WE are significant relative to other life.

    Maybe you’ll pardon the pessimism if I describe it this way:

    Chances are very good that your last meal won’t be worth dying for.

    My grandmother frequently described food as “to die for”. The idiom was understood as such, because while my grandmother’s use of this phrase equated Bagel Bites and lobster bisque, logic suggests that the two are not comparable cuisine.

    Certainly most people could think of a favorite meal that they would prefer, were it to be their last, but I suspect that in very few cases are those folks ready to say that it’d be worth dying for.

    Now in deference to objectivity, here’s a possible exception.

    • The Bruce 3:51 pm on March 18, 2008 Permalink | Log in to Reply

      …in very few cases are those folks ready to say that it’d be worth dying for.”

      The Bruce passionately objects to this closed minded statement in light of an extraordinary corned beef, cabbage, and potato feast last night at his supper table.

    • The Bruce 5:50 pm on May 23, 2008 Permalink | Log in to Reply

      The Bruce, who has recently been reading Robert Penn Warren’s All the King’s Men found that this quote breathes new into Don Lando’s musings on moments.

      “How life is strange and changeful, and the crystal is in the steel at the point of fracture, and the toad bears a jewel in its forehead, and the meaning of moments passes like the breeze that scarcely ruffles the leaf of the willow.”

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